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“I don’t think so. I checked it out myself. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make it look like you were there. And a lot of trouble to make the scene as bloody as possible.”
Sam’s stomach rolled. He remembered the blood, dammit. So much fucking blood.
“Bastard put up a fight, though. No way you could have fought him without at least a bruise. So I’m letting you go. But watch your ass,” he warned again. “Next time, you might not be so damned lucky.”
Sam nodded shortly before he flung himself out the door. If he didn’t get out of the stifling atmosphere of the sheriff’s office, he would disgrace himself by vomiting all over the waxed floor in front of the door.
Outside, the sun shone down on him with blistering intensity as he strode quickly for his pickup. Son of a bitch, Sheriff’s department had been going through it, he knew. His fists clenched at the thought.
The door was unlocked, his keys hanging in the ignition. Sam jumped into the black, four-door Explorer and twisted the key furiously. The engine caught immediately and he would have torn out of the parking lot then if he hadn’t remembered his wallet. Josh still had it, lying on the desk, taken from him just as his keys had been.
He grimaced. Leaving the vehicle running, he jumped out and strode quickly for the door again. Maybe he could get Josh to just toss it to the door. He was starting up the stairs when the explosion rocked the ground, throwing him through the air with a blast of heat that took his breath.
Sam hit the ground hard, his shoulder slamming into the pavement, his head scraping a low wall as the lights went out. His last thought was praying his truck hadn’t been damaged too badly. Dammit, he had just bought it.
Chapter Seven
“Sam, at this rate, you’re going to top my record of the most hospital stays in a year,” Marly teased him as they sat in the back of the limo, heading for the ranch several days later.
The truck was totaled. The explosive had malfunctioned, otherwise… Sam grimaced. Toasted August served up for the pleasure of the bastard who had most likely been watching the whole show.
Sam grinned his normal, reckless grin deliberately. There was nothing to say though. Not even to Marly. Mark Tate was dead, his truck was destroyed, and according to Cade, they had lost more than forty head of stock the night before to some maniac who had picked them off one by one before Rick and his men could do anything to stop him.
Twelve fucking bodyguards and no one could catch the son of a bitch. It just didn’t make sense to him.
“Sam, why didn’t you call the house while you were in that fucking jail?” It was Cade’s voice that drew him out of his thoughts.
The tone was dark, angry. Sam looked into his brother’s face and saw the fury reflected there. Sam shrugged. “I’m a big boy now, Cade. I can take care of myself.”
Blood covered his hands. He looked down at his hands as the vision flashed before his mind. No blood, just the scars.
“You spent the night in a fucking jail cell and didn’t have the good sense to call your family?” Cade bit out roughly. “What the hell’s got into you lately?”
Sam could hear the echo of Cade’s nightmares in his voice. A cell. The pain, the rage, and a madman’s laughter.
“I don’t need you to baby-sit me, Cade.” Sam almost winced at the sound of his own voice, but a cold, hidden core inside his soul suddenly hardened further, making itself plainly visible.
Cade’s eyes flashed silver with his anger. His expression hardened, his large body tensing as Marly watched them both in confusion.
“Sam, we were concerned.” Marly’s softly spoken chastisement pricked at his conscience.
He wiped his hands over his face, shaking his head as he tried to still the demons fighting inside him.
“I’m sorry,” he bit out. “It’s been a helluva week.”
“Sam.” He felt her move, his arms going around her instinctively as she moved into his lap.
Oh God. He trembled, feeling the warmth, the gentle weight cuddling against his chest. He opened his eyes, looking directly into those of his brother. There was no jealousy, no anger that she was in his arms. Cade watched his lover with lust mixed in with his anger at him, for him. A lust Sam felt for her. A lust he felt for Brock’s lover, Sarah. Needs and desires both men, he knew, shared for the woman Sam had yet to claim for his own…Heather.
For now, Marly was in his arms, and as always the demons stilled, though his heart ached. Ached for himself, for Cade and Brock, and for Marly. He felt her lips at his neck, as soothing and soft, as hot and sweet as they would be for his brother.
“Marly.” He swallowed tightly, his hands tightening on her waist as she moved to straddle his body.
The soundproof window was secured between the back and front of the limo. The special design of each compartment afforded the brothers their privacy from the bodyguards in the front.
“Sam.” She clasped his cheeks between her slender hands.
Her blue eyes were wide, bottomless and filled with such love. She knew his needs. She knew of the dark demons, the nightmares, the anger and fear that filled all of them. And he wanted to scream out in agony. It shouldn’t be her place to ease his pain. And yet she did. God help him, but it did ease him. It eased his soul.
